All characters owned by Marvel Comics

Author's notes: This story came from a little Romy Halloween challenge set forth by the awesome Spasticatt! This is set in the early days of Rogue and Gambit, let's say shortly after Bella Donna and the Brood, but before X-Cutioner's Song. Fun, angsty times, but PG-13 times. Enjoy!

Make Believe

"Ya did good today, darlin'."

Rogue limped to the refrigerator and swung it wide open, leaning heavily on the door to let the blast of cold air dry the sweat from her body. The fridge, like everything else in the spacious kitchen, still had the stink of newness about it. It had only been a handful of weeks since the most recent rebuild of Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a stately mansion nestled in the woods of Westchester County, New York, and none of the dozen or so mutants who now called it home had dared to even scuff their shoes across the gleaming tile floor. To Rogue, a long time student of Xavier's and a member of the mutant team heroes known as the X-Men, the house didn't feel quite right, and she couldn't put her finger on why. The original mansion had been destroyed years ago, collateral damage from serving as headquarters for a team of superheroes. Since then, Rogue had lived in every corner of the globe, from Alcatraz to Australia, but there had been days she still missed the creaky old original mansion and the sense of family it inspired. So far, despite all the amenities and upgrades of the new estate, the replacement wasn't quite living up to its predecessor. Too many things had changed since they had all gathered under one roof, leaving Rogue to wonder if Xavier's School would ever feel like a true home again.

"Grab me a brew while you're in there."

Rogue glanced over her shoulder at where Logan, her teammate Wolverine, had spread out in a wooden chair that looked barely able to hold his bulk at the long, white kitchen table. "A beer for breakfast, sugar?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but he just raised a busy eyebrow.

"Breakfast?" His weathered face spread into a grin. "I ain't been to bed yet, girl, have you?"

Grumbling, she bent back into the refrigerator. After a ten mile run, most people reached for a water or a Gatorade. Logan? Big, fat can of Molson. There were at least some things that never changed. He grunted his thanks, and she guzzled a bottled water of her own while she started a pot of coffee. When it was done, Rogue added too much cream and sugar and joined Logan comfortable silence at the table. Sunrise was still a little ways off in Salem Center, the town nearest the school, the pink light just feathering the eastern sky over the grounds, but Rogue and Wolverine had been at it for hours. It was a new ritual they shared since returning to the rebuilt mansion: a jog around the grounds, part conditioning, part security sweep, but Rogue secretly relished the time spent alone with her friend, a man she considered both mentor and big brother. It had been too many years since she had been able to harass him on a daily basis, and Lord knew there wasn't much alone time these days. A lot of new faces had joined up with the X-Men, and while that wasn't always a bad thing, it seemed like a crowded room was all Rogue ever found within the walls of the school. To have a few moments of silence before the mayhem of the day was priceless.

True to form, it didn't last.

"You're killing me, Bish!"

The double doors leading to the interior halls of the mansion swung open, followed by Bobby Drake, known as Iceman, and the team's newest member, the time-displaced mutant Bishop. Rogue grimaced at Logan over her mug. It appeared the X-Men's Gold Team was back from their most recent mission. Bobby, one of the original X-Men and the unofficial prankster of the team, flopped into the chair next to Rogue. He was still dressed in the two-toned blue bodysuit that served as his uniform.

"I certainly intended no bodily harm, Robert." Bishop, tall dark and serious, wasn't exactly the life of the party. He came from the not-so-distant future, a gloomy world where the X-Men had been betrayed and murdered by one of their own. His judgements and accusations hadn't gained him a fan in Rogue.

"It's too late," Bobby put the back of his hand against his forehead, his voice choking with feigned emotion. "The damage is done. I've got nothing left to live for…"

"What in tarnation are ya' babblin' about?" Rogue regretted the question as soon it flew out of her mouth, especially when Logan stared bloody murder her direction. She shrugged in a sheepish apology, but Wolverine grumbled under his breath and got up from the table when Bobby launched into his story.

"Get this, Rogue," Bobby leaned closer to her bare arm, and Rogue flinched back. Even with Bobby's skin safely covered by his costume, it still made her uneasy sitting so close to anyone. The X-Men were mutants, considered by most to be the next step in human evolution. A genetic quirk had granted them all special abilities beyond normal humans, but Rogue sometimes thought of hers as more of a curse than a blessing. With the merest brush of her skin, she drained a person of their memories and abilities, rendering them unconscious or worse. It was something Rogue couldn't control, making her both victim and perpetrator. She lived with everyone at arm's length, covering herself from neck to toe for her friends' safety as much as her own. One of the unfortunate things about such a crowded school, the more people, the higher chance of an accident, particularly with one of the mansion's newest residents…

Speak o' the devil. It was as if she had conjured him just by thinking about him. Logan had moved towards the back door that opened out onto the grounds, narrowly avoiding Gambit sauntering in on a gust of crisp fall air. Another new teammate, Cajun by way of New Orleans. A thief by trade and a born flirt, everything about the man screamed trouble. Too handsome for his own good, an easy charm emanated from every pore of his lithe body, and damn him, he knew it. Women fell all over themselves just to get a wink and a smirk. Tan, ripped, dark hair that always had that artfully messy look, a little hint of a French accent. Just the sight of him raised Rogue's blood pressure by a few points, and she hated him for it, hated herself for letting him get to her. Most people were put off, even frightened by her mutant power, but this one? Rogue was finding Gambit harder and harder to avoid. Usually flirting was as far as anything ever went once someone found out she was all look and no touch. She and Gambit had a disastrous first date, and she figured that would have been the end of it, but he seemed bound and determined to end up in a coma.

Gambit evaded Logan's exit with the grace of a ballroom dancer moving to his own beat. She tried not to notice that he was still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before, though the dress slacks and button-up were decidedly more rumpled. His eyes, a curious combination of red irises on black sclera, met Rogue's as he slunk towards the coffee maker. She had never really understood the expression 'undressing you with their eyes' until she had been introduced to Gambit, but the man was an expert.

Bobby was still talking, his voice shifting from mock sadness to quiet horror. "Bishop says, in the future, there's no Halloween."

Pulled back into the conversation, Rogue raised an eyebrow at Bishop for confirmation. As the two of them weren't on speaking terms since the boysenberry pie incident had wrecked her date with Gambit a few weeks prior, Bishop merely nodded in agreement.

"See!" Bobby pointed at the big man still standing guard over the coffee pot. "No Halloween!"

Rogue stared intently at Bobby, telling herself she was definitely not watching Gambit edge his way past Bishop to pour himself a cup of joe. "So?" she insisted. "Who cares?"

"Who cares?" Bobby sputtered. "I care! America cares! Bad enough to find out I bit the big one thanks to some backstabbing traitor who's supposed to be my friend, but then there's no Halloween?! No costumes, no fun-size candy bars, no flaming bags of dog poop? What the hell are we fighting for?"

Rogue picked up her coffee mug and scowled into the dregs at the bottom. If she wanted more, she'd have to get within arm's reach of Gambit, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that when she could see lipstick stains on his collar. It's not like he owed her anything, they really had gone on only the one date, so he was certainly free to spend his nights with whomever he pleased, but it still stung a little. "Halloween's kinda stupid anyway," she muttered.

Gambit spit his first sip of coffee across the breakfast bar, caffeinated brown drops falling pitter patter onto white tile. "Wha…what did you say, cherie?" he croaked, and dabbed at his dress shirt with a paper towel.

"I said Halloween's stupid. I hate Halloween." Rogue wanted to laugh, but the identically horrified expressions on Gambit and Bobby's faces were starting to make her feel uncomfortable. "What?" she asked, her cheeks, already pink from the exercise in the brisk early morning air, flaring a deeper red.

"How can you hate Halloween?" The look on Gambit's face was almost crestfallen, and Rogue's stomach did a tiny flip flop. He was…disappointed. Why? And why did she care so much what this man thought of her?

Her response was cut short by the swinging open of the interior door again. The mansion was waking up, sort of, and a bleary eyed Jubilee stumbled through the entrance, followed by Scott Summers, Cyclops, starched stiff in his uniform of blue and yellow. Jubilee was the youngest resident of the mansion by quite a few years, just barely into her teens, and she looked less than enthused to be on the early side of the sunrise. Jubilee pulled out a chair next to Bobby, laid her head on the table, and closed her eyes.

"Geez, Scotty, d'you sleep in that thing?"

Scott nodded in greeting, but ignored Bobby's comment. "Blue team, we've got the Danger Room in twenty minutes." All business, all the time. Scott Summers had been one of Professor Xavier's first students, and had led the team in the man's absence. The burden of leadership seemed to have implanted a permanent stick up Scott's ass, but he wasn't all bad. Rogue had seen him let his hair down, just a teensy bit, once, when he thought no one was looking.

Jubilee covered her head with her arms and groaned. Rogue wanted to join in the complaining, a Danger Room session after running with the Wolverine all night was going to be hell, but at least Scott's interruption had brought a welcome change of subject. She knew Halloween was a big deal in New Orleans, after all she had grown up not so far away in Mississippi and you always heard stories, but she would never have dreamed that the holiday meant so much to the handsome Cajun.

"All right people, let's do it again."

Through a cloud of smoke, Rogue could make out the blurry silhouettes of her associates, the X-Men's Blue Team. With a school full of more mutants than one squad could handle, Professor Xavier had divided their numbers into two: the Gold Team and the Blue, which consisted of Rogue, Wolverine, Gambit, Cyclops, and Jubilee, as well as the blue-furred Beast and the telepathic ninja Psylocke.

Panting, Rogue leaned over with her hands on her knees while the air cleared. Some of the mutants she had worked with before, but they all seemed so unsure of each other. A dangerous thing in their business.

"Aw, c'mon, Cyke!" Jubilee groaned. "How many times d'we have to do this?"

It had to be afternoon by now as many times as Cyclops had put their team through their paces in the Danger Room, the X-Men's state of the art training facility. The room, a cavernous space that resembled a gigantic gymnasium, employed a mixture of mechanical constructs and holograms to hone their mutant talents. The floor around Rogue was littered with the battered spare parts of their last sparring partner, and her teammates, save Wolverine, looked as exhausted as she felt.

"Until, we get it right, Jubilee," Cyclops replied grimly.

The debris and smoke disappeared, but the room around them erupted in laser fire, blasters opening from panels in the towering walls and targeting the X-Men.

"Like we practiced!" Cyclops ordered as they scattered. "Formation bravo!"

Rogue was the only flier in their group, and was near invulnerable to boot. Her job was to draw the cannon's fire while the rest of them dismantled the targeting cameras and the blasters. She swooped for the ground and grabbed hold of Wolverine, heaving him towards the guns in their best fastball special. The blasters were being picked off left and right by their long distance shooters, Gambit, Jubilee, and Cyclops, but when Rogue made another pass to grab the Beast, a full hand of kinetically charged playing cards exploded in front of her, too close to dodge.

"Yeowtch!" Rogue screeched, and dropped to the ground. Her costume had caught fire, and she swatted frantically at the fabric.

"Computer, abort sequence!" Cyclops called.

The rest of the team rushed towards her, but Gambit made it there first. "Are you all right, cherie?" His hands froze above her.

Beast, brandishing a fire extinguisher, squeezed between them. "Stand aside, my Acadian friend. Stop, drop, and roll, dear Rogue!" He pointed the nozzle at Rogue, but she sat back on her haunches and held up a hand to stop him.

"I'm fine, Hank." Rogue sighed and patted at the ashy remnants of her costume. A hole had been blown in the stomach, though thankfully she had managed to deflect the flames from her naughtier bits and pieces with her now bare arms. "Can't say the same for my costume, I reckon."

"An improvement, cherie," Gambit winked at her. It was the kind of banter she had come to expect from him, but his voice was hollow and filled with remorse.

"This isn't a joke, Gambit," Cyclops proclaimed, and helped Rogue to her feet. "We can't afford mistakes like this, not when there are lives on the line. If that had been anybody else, we'd have a serious situation on our hands. You all ask me why we keep running these scenarios? Here's your answer. I want no mistakes. I want perfection. Computer? Initiate program 'Rachel'."

The room around them melted, darkening and reforming into the ruined landscape of a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Rogue shivered and took a careful look around the perimeter. The Danger Room had always been impressive, but now…it was all so real. The bright lights and gleaming metal walls were gone, the team now standing in the middle of a gutted city block. Overturned cars, debris and garbage, the haunting shells of gutted buildings loomed over their heads, casting them into even deeper shadows. On the horizon the orange glow of fires, and the acrid sting of smoke burned Rogue's eyes.

"Oh, my stars and garters," she heard Beast whisper. "What a wonderfully dismal brunch adventure you've conjured for us, fearless leader. Is there a tangible objective for this scenario?"

An explosion in the distance rattled the street and shattered a few of the remaining windows. Jubilee whimpered, and Rogue saw the girl shuffle closer to Wolverine. The rest of their faces were impenetrable masks, giving away nothing.

Cyclops motioned them forward. "Survive," was all he offered.

Rogue's first instinct was to take flight like she always did, but Wolverine grabbed her arm.

"Incoming!" he roared.

Down the block, a building burst, the outline of a monstrously familiar robot emerging from the chunks of brick and mortar. It was a sentinel, a hundred foot tall machine built by humans to hunt and slaughter mutants, and it wasn't alone. Three more broke free of buildings down the street, and their thunderous steps rattled Rogue's teeth.

"On my mark!" Cyclops bellowed, a streak of ruby red force firing from his visor to punch through the chest of the nearest robot. The creature staggered backwards in a shower of sparks, but did not fall.

It was just the Danger Room, Rogue reminded herself as she launched herself into the air. Make believe. Illusion. There were safety protocols in place, but, barreling through the darkened sky, Rogue caught the faint smell of her own burned hair, clipped by one of the robot's blasts. Below, the team had separated into pairs, one mutant attacking their metal assailant high, the other low. The light flashed on Wolverine's adamantium claws as he slashed through the leg of one of the walking death machines. It started to timber, but the Beast was attacking too close. The robot swatted him, hard, directly into Rogue. She couldn't dodge, and Hank's furry blue body cannonballed into her exposed abdomen. The Beast's fur was no protection against her power. The two of them slammed into a building on the opposite side of the street. There was just too much of him touching too much of her. She felt the pain of walls smashing against her back and against Hank, and worse than that, his mind poured over hers like a bucket of ice water. They skidded to a halt, their teammates screaming at them from the street below. Rogue scrambled to free them both and to get away from Hank's skin, but the damage had been done. With effort, she heaved a brick wall off her backside, and collapsed on the ground next to him. Through the flour batter of brick dust coating them both, she felt the pinprick of blur fur sprouting from her skin.

Hiding in the infirmary let her avoid any mirrors, but Rogue could still see herself reflected in the pane of glass that separated her room from Hank's. Absorbing a teammate was something she tried to avoid, hell absorbing anyone was something she would gladly give up if given the choice, but there was something extra gut-wrenching about draining everything from someone she knew. All their secrets became hers in a belly-flop smack of images only she could see. She especially hated taking powers that came with drastic physical transformations. Archangel's wings, Nightcrawler's tail, extra appendages bursting from her body were never a pleasant experience, and a furry blue coat was no exception.

Even with ducking her reflection, Rogue knew the Beast would disappear from her head and wake up soon, though that did little to alleviate her guilt. For one, her IQ was dropping like a stone. She knew most people assumed she was stupid or a little backwards, strangers stereotyping her Southern accent and big boobs was nothing new to Rogue and she tried not to let it get her down. She knew her own capabilities and took pride in proving those kind of people wrong with her quick wit, but right now she felt a little dumb. Hank McCoy was a certified genius, and his brain had been whiling away it's time inside hers solving complicated algebraic equations as easy as most would tie their shoes. Those equations that had been crystal clear less than an hour ago were now to Rogue like trying to read something in ancient Hebrew, so she knew he and his big brain were on their way out.

For another, she could feel the maddening itch of her borrowed cookie monster coat reversing course into her skin, follicle by follicle. She hopped up from her own bed and detached the monitors, feeling the Beast's perspicacity fading along with the fur. There was no need for her to have been monitored, not really, it had been an absorption like any other, but letting the Professor confine her to the infirmary until the process had worn off had given her a chance to avoid any awkward stares or questions from her newest teammates. It wasn't like this was the first time Gambit or Jubilee had seen Rogue use her mutant powers, but it was the first time she had accidentally absorbed one of their own. She stepped closer to the glass separating her from Hank, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw him stir beneath the crisp white sheet.

It had been an accident, a stupid accident, but where her powers were concerned she couldn't afford to be so careless, and she knew better. She would have to be more careful or someone was going to really get hurt. Maybe Gambit would get it now, Rogue thought. Maybe he would understand why she kept everyone away, why she couldn't get any closer. This was what happened when she let her guard down…

"Hey!"

Rogue jumped a mile at the sound of Jubilee's voice, accompanied by the scrape of rollerblade wheels.

"Like, you're not blue anymore!" Jubilee rolled into the room and spun a circle on the linoleum, black scuff marks following her feet in tiny comet tails.

Plastering on as big a smile as she could muster, Rogue turned towards the girl. "Thank god. Looks like Beast's comin' out of it, too."

Jubilee stopped and held herself up against the end of the hospital bed. "Too bad you couldn't keep it. It would have been such a cool costume for the party!"

"If I woulda kept it, Hank would still be in a coma," Rogue countered, but backtracked. "Wait…what party?" she frowned at the girl, who had rolled to the side of the bed and was currently shuffling through the blankets and sheets Rogue had just vacated. "What are ya lookin' for, gal?" she asked as Jubilee's attention shifted to the floor under the bed.

"Where'd all the fur go?" Jubilee probed, her head disappearing beneath the bed's metal frame.

Rogue took a deep breath. There was so much people didn't understand about how her power worked, and sometimes she didn't have the energy to explain it all. She leaned back against the glass instead. "It doesn't fall out. It just…goes back in, I guess."

The head topped with pink sunglasses popped up again. "Gross!" Jubilee flopped onto the bed, lying on her stomach and dangling the blades over the opposite edge. "Does it, like, hurt?"

Rogue tugged at her glove unconsciously. It wasn't that she hated explaining things about her mutant power, she just was never sure how much to tell people. How much until that look of fear crossed their faces, how much until they backed away and treated her like she had the plague? "No, sugar, just kinda' itchy is all. You didn't answer my question. What party?"

"My party."

Gambit hadn't startled her, Rogue had seen his approach down the infirmary's hallway, but the purr of his voice sent shivers down her spine nonetheless. He prowled into the room like he owned it, liquid smooth and smoldering, those eyes tracing every curve of her body in greeting. Damn him. She wanted to blame Gambit for what had happened in the Danger Room, but it was her power, not Gambit's, that had knocked Hank unconscious.

"We're having a Halloween party!" Jubilee cheered.

Gambit chuckled softly and leaned against the end of the bed, a deck of cards appearing in his hands like magic.

"Your party?" Rogue asked.

The cards shuffled too fast to follow between his long fingers. "My idea, cherie." His eyes rose to meet hers, and Rogue's stomach dropped into her boots, her temper climbing in its place.

"Figures," she scoffed and turned her attention back to Hank, whom Bobby and Scott were helping sit up in the bed next door. He looked okay, but maybe she was just fooling herself. Rogue knew from experience she was probably in for a few days of the cold shoulder from the Beast. Most people didn't do it on purpose, it was just a reflex after having their soul ripped from their body. She tried not to take it personally, and tried her best to forget some of the more personal things she had seen, but it wasn't always easy. There were some things, events from the lives of the people she absorbed, that she would never be rid of, burned into her mind like scar tissue.

When she turned back, Gambit was next to her, the arm of his worn leather trenchcoat pressed against hers. Always so close. She scowled and shifted, but he merely smiled and fanned the playing cards towards her.

"Pick a card, cherie," he implored, his gaze a magnet holding hers.

She pulled one from the deck and smirked. "Card tricks, sugar? Is this gonna be the entertainment at yer little get together?" The card was an ace of spades, and she tucked it back into the deck.

"Don't be a party pooper, Rogue!" Jubilee whined and clomped her heavy wheels onto the floor.

Gambit shuffled the deck and winked at the girl. "Don' worry, petite. Even without Henri's fur coat, Rogue'll have de best costume there, I guarantee."

She narrowed her eyes at him and pushed the cards towards his chest. "Don't bet on it, sugar."

He laughed softly and handed her back a card, face down. "House never loses, cherie."

She turned the card over and frowned. It was the Queen of Hearts and she shook it in his face. "Not my card, Cajun."

"You so sure 'bout that?"

He didn't take the card back, merely turned and strode from the room. Jubilee rolled after him, she could hear the girl badgering him to take her to town to shop for costumes, and all Rogue could do was stand there with her mouth hanging open.

Flipping through racks of plastic wrapped Halloween costumes only made the knots in Rogue's stomach twist tighter. Slutty cop, slutty nurse, slutty zombie, there wasn't one she could lay her eyes on in the temporary Halloween shop in the New Salem Mall that would be safe enough for her to wear thanks to her mutant powers. Why was she even looking? She didn't even want to go to the stupid party. She would have to keep a three foot radius around her with as much skin as most of the get-ups displayed. There was no way a certain crazy Cajun would make it through his precious party without getting knocked unconscious, though part of Rogue thought a nice coma would serve Gambit right. It was his fault she had gotten stuck driving Jubilee to the mall in the first place.

All week, Rogue had managed to avoid anything and everything to do with the impending Halloween party, but she hadn't been able to avoid a pouting Jubilee on the mansion's main staircase. Gambit had promised to help her with her costume, and the rat bastard had weaseled out of it to go do whatever it was he did on a Friday night. When she saw him again, he was a dead man.

A scowling Jubilee sidled up next do her. "This is, like, totally lame." If the girl's lower lip stuck out any farther, Rogue thought she might trip on it.

Rogue shrugged and pushed away another distastefully demeaning outfit. "Told ya, sugar. Halloween sucks."

Jubilee's scowl deepened. "It doesn't suck, these costumes suck! None of these will even fit me!" She grabbed the nearest from the rack and held it in front of her tiny frame. "You could fit two of me in this thing and we'd both still need boob jobs! Nobody's built like this!" Jubilee looked Rogue up and down and crinkled her nose. "Nobody 'cept you, and Betsy, and Jean, and Ororo, and every other X-Woman that's poured into spandex!" She stuffed the package back onto the rack. "Soooo unfair!"

Biting back the 'life's unfair' comment that threatened to jump out of her mouth, Rogue gestured to the other side of the shop. "You could always try the kids' section." She meant it as a joke, but Jubilee didn't take it that way.

"What, like Elmo or something? Give me a break." In response, Jubilee dropped the pink sunglasses she used as a headband onto her nose, and crossed her arms over the yellow jacket she wore rain or shine.

The knot in Rogue's stomach turned a little tighter. Very few of the X-Men had ever had what could be called normal childhoods. Most, like Rogue and Jubilee, were orphans who had found a makeshift family with the band of mutant outlaws. She knew that despite the girl's bravado, Jubilee was excited about Gambit's party and about dressing up because it was something that normal kids did. The last thing she needed was Rogue's own insecurities bringing her down.

"What about makin' your own costume?" Rogue asked with a fair amount of forced sunshine. "We could hit the Goodwill or something, probably find some hippy clothes or an old prom dress…"

The girl didn't answer, but the expression on her face shifted. Maybe Jubilee just needed some encouragement, a few ideas. Having avoided the holiday for most of her life, Rogue didn't think she was the ideal one to offer suggestions, but she kept tossing out ideas. "You could be a witch, or a cat, or a vampire…"

Jubilee snorted. "A vampire? Yeah, right. That's believable."

Starting to lose patience, Rogue did her best to ignore the stares of the other shoppers. "Well, what about that movie you like? Buffy or whatever?"

The girl cocked her head. "Like, Jubilation Lee, Vampire Slayer?"

"Yeah, what is she? A cheerleader? You could get Logan to carve you a couple stakes…"

"A cheerleader?" she squealed. "Like, no boobs, remember?" The shades slipped down to the end of her nose, and her big brown eyes glinted mischievously. "Maybe you should dress as the cheerleader. Gambit would flip his shit!"

A nearby mother with a gaggle of little kids shot the mutants a dirty look, and Rogue felt her cheeks flush. "Language, girl," she muttered, but Jubilee rolled her eyes.

"Are we done here?" Jubilee fumed, stomping out of the store without waiting for Rogue's answer.

The drive back to the mansion was silent and awkward. Rogue hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but when Gambit had bailed there was a small part of her that thought maybe she and Jubilee could get to know each other a little better. The trip to the mall had been a total bust, it seemed all they had done was get on each other's nerves.

Rogue eased the red sports car, her favorite of the school's new vehicles, through the mansion's gates and into the garage around the backside. Jubilee was out of the car before Rogue even had her seatbelt undone.

"Thanks, I guess," the girl mumbled, and headed out the door closest to the kitchen entrance.

Rogue sighed, and sat for a hushed, lonely minute in the car. Being a teenager was tough enough for most people. Adding mutant powers and a new home and family was something few people would understand. On the surface, the brash southerner didn't appear to have much in common with the young L.A. mall rat, but the events that had shaped their lives sang similar tunes. Jubilee had been thrust into the dangerous life of being a superhero, where Rogue had been steered towards a more villainous lifestyle by her foster mothers before coming to Xavier's school. She would have to try harder with Jubilee.

The rumble of a motorcycle reached her ears as she stepped from the vehicle, and Rogue gritted her teeth. It was too much to hope that it was the roar of Logan's bike, and sure enough her eyes spotted Wolverine's Harley already stretched across two parking spots in the spacious garage.

Gambit's bike glided through the bay doors, her heart hammering at the sight of his agile frame commanding the bike. There was no way to avoid a confrontation, and deep down Rogue didn't really want to. She knew she couldn't ever have him, but that didn't mean she didn't like his company or his lopsided grin. They barely knew each other, but his attention made her feel things no other man had. Part of her resented him for being a constant, gorgeous reminder of how much her mutant power took from her.

He swung a leg over the seat of the bike, and tossed his unkempt hair back from his forehead, that grin tugging at the edges of his lips.

"Bon soir, cherie," Gambit murmured, his eyes glowing like hot coals in a campfire.

Reminding herself that it was his fault she had such a lousy night, Rogue straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Evening, Gambit," she said airily, and made a beeline for the door, intending to ignore him.

He bowed out of her way, and she thought for a moment that was all he wanted from her tonight, but then he opened his mouth again.

"Saw that Jubilee headin' inside. She didn't look too happy, non?"

She should have let it drop, but Rogue skidded to a halt and whirled on Gambit, her temper crawling up her throat like it did so often in his company these days.

"She's unhappy, Gambit, 'cause somebody told her they'd take her shopping for a Halloween costume!"

He had the decency to look chagrined, and ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Whoops," he replied.

"Whoops?" Rogue narrowed her eyes to slits and jabbed a finger at him. "That's all you got to say for yerself?" She was getting too worked up, but she couldn't help it. He made her so angry with his smug grin and his too tight t-shirts. "You broke a promise to that little girl! She's all in a tizzy 'cause she couldn't find anything, doin' all just to impress you, but you were too selfish to even be bothered! Need I remind you that this was all your lousy idea in the first place?"

Gambit took a big step forward, and her finger rested against his firm chest until she snatched it back.

"Now, hold on, Rogue," he chided. "Just because you don' like fun, cherie, don' make my party a lousy idea."

"Fun?" she sputtered. "Overpriced get-ups and fake blood and monsters ain't my idea of fun."

He kept stepping towards her, that maddening smirk on his face again, like he knew something she didn't and was waiting for her to catch on. "Is that why you don't like Halloween?" he asked. "All those skimpy costumes?"

"Oh, please," Rogue scoffed, but somehow she had let him trap her between him and the Professor's shiny black Towne Car. To get free, she'd either have to shove Gambit, or punch her way through the expensive vehicle.

Gambit put an arm on either side of her, his body heat setting off alarm bells inside her. "Trust me, Rogue, you don't need to wear anything fancy to impress me. You'd still be the sexiest woman there even if you come dressed in a garbage bag." One hand moved towards her face, and she held her breath when he lightly trailed the backs of his fingers along her jawline. "Course," he crooned, "you don' want to wear nothin' else under that garbage bag, you sure won' be hurtin' my feelings."

"That's not funny." She hated the hitch in her voice, how her palms were sweating beneath her gloves. "I'm dangerous."

"Dangerous?" he chuckled softly, and leaned closer, close enough she could smell cigarettes mingled with the spicy scent of him. "Maybe, but not the way you be thinkin', cherie."

The distance between their lips disappeared, and only her gloved hand on his mouth saved him from unconsciousness. Disappointment crossed his face for a split second when he pulled back, but Gambit covered it with his usual cocky charm.

"C'est bien, chere," was all he said, but he left Rogue trembling.

Why did she let him get to her like this? Anyone else would have been a hole in the side of the garage for a stunt like that, but Gambit? Being near him was almost torture, but it was a torture Rogue seemed to welcome. Even though he was at times an irritating pain in the ass, she was starting to care for Gambit more than she wanted to admit. But, every time they got a little closer, they seemed to slam into a huge roadblock. Her powers, his dead wife. It was still so hard to open up, to let someone inside. Was his attention genuine, or was it just make believe? What would it hurt, Rogue thought, to be honest with him?

"Gambit?" She laid a hand lightly on his arm, and he started in surprise at the physical contact.

"Rogue?"

"I…I don't like Halloween, that's the truth, but it's not because of the dressin' up…it's…" She bit her lip. Sometimes the truth was a lot harder to get out. He waited expectantly while she fumbled for the right words. "Gambit, can you tell me why you like Halloween?"

He shrugged. "What's not to like? Where I come from, it's une grande fete! The whole Quarter be one big party! The food, the tourists! Every block there's music, vampires and zombies and ghosts!" The grin that split his face made him look ten years younger, and Rogue's heart ached at the sight. "Everybody drinking, laughing together! And the costumes! Chere, you never seen the like! Everybody looking for an escape, if just for one night! I mean, who don't want the chance to be somebody else…!" He stopped midsentence, and his face fell as understanding pulled his smile down around his ankles. He stared at her wide-eyed, and stammered. "Rogue…I…I…"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Now you get it. Bein' somebody else? I reckon I get enough of that." She didn't want to see any more of the pity in his eyes, and sidestepped him easily. "You enjoy the rest of your night, Gambit."

Instead of heading for the house, she took two steps out of the garage and launched herself into the air, ignoring his calls for her to come back. The wind ripped through her hair, the frosty tinge numbing the angry tears that burned her eyes and throat. She didn't go far, just far enough to get away from that smile that wanted so many things she couldn't offer.

Landing with the thump of her cowboy boots against the worn wood of the dock, Rogue took a deep breath and smoothed her hair back, staring over the water of Sputin Dyvil Cove. So many things had changed at Xavier's School, but this spot, comfortably the same, had always reminded her of home, of lazy Mississippi days, even when the temperature held the kiss of frost and dying leaves.

She sighed and stuffed her gloved hands into the pockets of her leather bomber jacket. Why couldn't Gambit just leave her alone? What exactly didn't he understand about untouchable skin? Flirting was one thing, but he was taking things too far, and it wasn't a game anymore. Truthfully, all it did was hurt her, made her think of everything she would never have, a home, a family of her own…

The heavy fall of footsteps joined her on the dock, and she didn't need the smell of cigars to know who it was. Logan stopped next to her and took a long drag, the lit end making the shadows dance across his weathered face. He blew out a cloud of smoke, and Rogue watched it disappear into the blanket of stars over their heads.

"Rogue, darlin'…" he started, but she shook her head sharply.

"Don't," she interrupted. "Just…don't." No lectures, no advice, she wasn't sure how long she could keep her tears at bay, and there had been more than enough of that since Gambit had entered her life. But, that was what she loved best about Logan. Instead of pressing the issue like Jean or Hank or Ororo, he just grunted and continued smoking his stogie. The two stood there in silence until the moon rose high in the sky and the temp dropped low enough that Rogue had to burrow into the collar of her jacket. She sighed and turned to walk back to the mansion, but Logan grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. He leaned in and she stiffened at the closeness, though she knew he respected her limits.

"People like you and me, darlin'…" his low voiced moved like tires on gravel and she had to look away from his piercing stare.

"Logan, please…" she tried to pull away, but he held her arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Don't push everybody away, Rogue," he whispered hoarsely. "Yer gonna have to let somebody in."

She swallowed, and this time when she tugged on his grip, he let her go.

The night of the party, Rogue barricaded herself in her room with a mug of cocoa and a mystery novel, though try as she might she couldn't seem to get lost in the story. She had read the same passage four times when the knock sounded on her door. Here it was, somebody trying to get her to come downstairs. She had a speech rehearsed and crossed the room, but the protest died on her lips when she opened the door.

Behind it Gambit bowed slightly in greeting, and when he rose to his full height, Rogue could only stare at him in confusion. The man who professed to love Halloween wasn't wearing a costume, though she could hear the music and laughter drifting up the staircase from the festivities he had planned. Instead of a pirate getup or some Indiana Jones costume, he was dressed in a pair of broken-in Levis and motorcycle boots. The only thing out of the ordinary from an everyday outfit was a sticker on the breast of his faded grey t-shirt. Plastered to the fabric was a nametag most normal people would find at a high school reunion or work convention. 'Hello, my name is' was pre-printed in red on a white background, and he had filled in 'Remy' with a black magic marker.

She knew his real name thanks to their encounter with his estranged wife and the Brood in New Orleans, but had only called him by it a handful of times. Everything was still so new and uncertain between them, the name so strange on her tongue, like a secret whisper. She smiled uncertainly at him and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Sounds like the party started, sugar. Where's your costume?"

He grinned and opened his arms wide. "This be it, cherie."

Crossing her arms over her chest as she did so often in his company, Rogue eyed him warily. "I don't understand."

Gambit ducked his head, then looked up at her under his eyelashes, the simmer enough to knock her knees out from under her. "That's funny y'say that, Rogue, 'cause I'm tryin' my best to understand you, chere. You may have a point. We spend too much time pretendin' to be someone we not. So, I figured, this year I'm just goin' as little ol' Remy LeBeau. No make believe, no games. Figured, maybe you'd want to join me, and just be you?" He reached into his back pocket and produced another sticker. Rogue thought at first it was another trick, a swipe at her for never revealing her real name where he had been forced to give up his, but written in his neat scrawl across the sticker was simply 'Rogue'.

"Hate to have the prettiest fille up here all by herself. What d'ya say?" He held the sticker out in invitation. Rogue reached for it and Gambit's thumb brushed lightly across her fingers. "'Course, if ya need help puttin it on…" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Rogue snatched the sticker away.

"Ya just had to ruin the moment, didn't ya, swamp rat?" she chastised, but couldn't suppress the smile that spread across her features. Jeans and a t-shirt was what she was wearing, too, though hers was long-sleeved. She flipped her auburn curls over her shoulder and pressed the sticker to the fabric.

"Told you. Best costume there." Gambit offered his elbow. "Shall we?"

It was such a simple request, made so complicated by the unfamiliar feel of his bicep beneath her gloved hand. Being herself was about the scariest thing Rogue could think of, but there was something about this man that made anything seem possible.

The End